


morbid masterpiece

by blueism



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (at least i think so), Angst, Blood, Clay | Dream Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Isolation, Mentioned Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Other, Pain, Self-Harm, Self-Indulgent, The Author Regrets Nothing, gore ig, its blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:02:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29384574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueism/pseuds/blueism
Summary: Something like this has always lingered in my head, the fic this was inspired by was just the turning point
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 261





	morbid masterpiece

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Paint Pallets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29255643) by [The_Sa1tiest_CarameL](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Sa1tiest_CarameL/pseuds/The_Sa1tiest_CarameL). 



> hhhhhh did this in one go so shhh
> 
> i didnt feel anything writing this so idk if its technically angst???
> 
> Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Dream stared wistfully at the blood that ~~stained~~ , no _decorated_ the walls of his cell, lit only by the lava. Tearing his gaze away from the streaks of blood that made up one of his paintings, he eyed the jars on the other side of the cell, gleaming with different shades of crimson, remnants of his old… _hobby._ He sighed in frustration. He’d lapsed back into his three games, rotating between them, but they had quickly gone mundane. None of them could fill the gaping void that painting ~~with your own blood~~ had left behind. His lips turned down, curving into a frown at the thought of Techno stripping away his ability to paint, removing the glass shards. Dream wondered if it was worth it to shatter one of his jars to allow some ~~blood~~ paint to flow freely out.

On one hand, Dream could continue painting more! ~~It sometimes hurt, but that was fine! Pain is beauty, after all!~~

On the other, he’d lose one of his jars, thus losing a color he could’ve used to paint with. That was fine though. He could lose one of the medium shades, or one of the lighter ones, because he could dilute the darker shades with water to make a medium shade, and use water in medium shades to make light shades! Yes, that balanced out quite nicely. Dream sat up and slid out of the meager bedding he was provided, and made his way to the jars proudly placed in order by the shade of its color near the lava, but paused midway through. The troubling thing was that he didn’t know how he could hide his pastime from Techno once he came for his routine check-ups. Dream sat on the floor, mindlessly tracing his finger on the obsidian floor, ignoring the spilled ~~blood~~ paint that was a common sight in most artists’ rooms. He was an artist at heart, after all! ~~Reflected in the way he’d do unorthodox actions just for a small sliver of time in which he’d be able to paint.~~ Now, back to the problem. Techno usually checked the jars first, but Dream could easily dump some of his paints into the lava nearby. Sacrifices needed to be made, he reasoned. The more problematic thing was trying to prevent Techno from seeing the new paintings that he’d add to the walls when he started painting anew. Dream found himself unconsciously digging his nails into his skin ~~pretending to not revel in how it sunk deeper and deeper~~ hard enough to draw blood, a habit he’d picked up recently after Techno had restricted his art. He frowned slightly at it, reminding himself to stop doing that so he could use his hands to paint with his makeshift paintbrush. Still, Dream found himself watching and not doing anything to stop the blood flow. He’d grown an interest in the liquid that kept him alive. Dream had made observations, like how despite how cold his skin was ~~a byproduct of the cold, cold, obsidian that made up his cage~~ , the blood that leaked out of him when he ~~hurt~~ extracted blood from himself was so warm. It made him feel warmer too, how despite his skin ~~and heart~~ were so glacial, at least one part of him was warm! He wanted to spread that feeling, so why not start with the obsidian again? He could just use his sweater to wipe up the blood afterward, right? 

So, Dream hummed happily as he stood up, dusted himself down out of habit, and then ambled towards the jars. He sadly pushed one jar of a lighter shade to the floor but knew that it was worth it. Dream crouched, picking up one of the shards on the larger side, stowing it behind him while he gathered the other shards and arranged them to form a pile under his bed. He grabbed the shard of glass, and then placed a jar with a medium shade hue down beneath his thigh before stabbing the shard into it, watching with macabre fascination as the shiny, semi-sticky blood slowly crawled down his thigh before dripping with methodical precision into the glass jar underneath his leg. He smiled, retrieving the shard out of his thigh and watching as the pace at which the blood descended increased considerably. Dream pulled the jar away when it was full, not caring that blood was still dripping down from his leg when he stood to get another jar, the only thought being a mild note of, “Awh, that’s paint wasted”, but nothing more than that. He fell into the mindless, familiar routine of stabbing into different body parts and letting his life fuel drain into the small, inconspicuous ~~when you ignored the blood~~ glass jars. He smiled gently, watching in an almost out-of-body experience as the jars slowly but surely filled up. 

Soon enough, all of them were filled, Dream’s memory not failing him yet. He grinned, rubbing his bloody hands together in excitement, sort of like a child, reaching for the paintbrush that still gleamed slightly with remnants of ~~blood~~ paint from his previous endeavors. He dipped it into the lighter shades first, getting a feel for art again and soon, he was laughing ~~manically~~ gleefully as his hands moved unbidden, blood sweeping across the obsidian in a routine that Dream had ~~not regrettably~~ grown accustomed to. 

Weary, Dream backed off, admiring the beauty of red against black ~~like Bad’s jacket~~. He’d always quite liked the color scheme; he’d just preferred green to it. Yet, there was no green that was available here. 

\----

_”Hey Dream?” Techno had asked one day._

_“Y-yeah?” the admin glanced at the pinkette blankly, waiting for Techno’s approval of the room, still decorated with Dream’s paintings, per Dream’s persistent request._

_“Why’d you have to resort to you know, cutting yourself for blo-excuse me, paint?” Techno asked, eyes slightly glazed over as he stared at the art that would’ve been beautiful if Techno didn’t know what colored it._

_“Well, I like pa-red first of all, and I was bored!” Dream smiled, joy not truly reaching his eyes._

_“Would you consider painting with actual, authentic paints and not, uhm, the paint you used?” Techno asked him after a moment. Dream cocked his head to the left, contemplating the words of the pinkette, before shaking his head to Techno’s slight chagrin. “Why not?” Dream was taken aback at the softer tone the pinkette used, trying to search for an ounce of poison he expected to be there, tucked away under layers of sweet words, and he was shocked when he found none. Techno just shook his head, interpreting Dream’s silence as a lack of an answer, rather than shock, and sighed before saying, “Dream, I’m going, have a- um- better time than last time.” And all Dream could do after was mull over the question that haunted his thoughts, not being able to voice any one of his answers to the person who asked._

\----

But now, Dream thinks he knows why he wouldn’t. He _adored_ the thought, the intoxicating idea that it was all from him, the red decorating the walls in all their ~~grisly~~ glory. He smiled, perfectly content for once in a long while. Dream knew, and he didn’t care that he was messed up. Like Techno, he’d gotten great at hiding knowledge ~~Dream guessed not, seeing how Techno had blundered magnificently when he was trying to hide Tommy from Dream back in exile~~ , so Dream guessed he couldn’t compare himself to the piglin hybrid. He sat on the edge of the bed, collapsing in it, a smile present on his face, the context of it much more sinister than even a serial killer’s most gory thoughts. And Dream fell asleep like that, sight hazy from blood loss, heart satisfied from his ~~sick~~ source of pleasure, and mind buzzing soothingly with the constant thrum of tasks to be done.

**Author's Note:**

> tyty
> 
> i abuse strikethrough too much smh


End file.
